The tobacco-spitting contest…

was the big deal in Raleigh, Mississippi.  That’s down in Simpson County, in case you were wondering, out in the middle of a cow pasture, out in the middle of nowhere.  That’s the Deep South there.  You can’t go any deeper.   That’s country, capital C.  There are some bloodlines down there that haven’t seen light in many decades.  Fortunately, nobody talks about ‘missing links’ anymore, so I won’t either.  Anyway, it’s all about hydraulics, the spit, that is.  They chew up a big wad, then tuck that sucker in the back of their mouths, chewing and mooing, extracting those rich juices all the while and letting them flow back as close to the gag reflex as possible without setting off any alarms.

When they’ve got a mouthful, they ready their stance and cock their heads back as far back as possible for catapult effect, or maybe a trebuchet, considering the counterweight paunch.  Then they spring suddenly forward and send that sucker flying at a thirty degree arc from horizontal, going going going some twenty feet before splattering on the ground in a trail of goop.  It’s good clean fun; don’t forget to wear protection.  In Thailand the slug races are the big backyard event every morning as the sun also rises.  All the slugs start the long trek up the perimeter wall to avoid the heat of day.  They don’t tell you this in the tourist brochures.  BTW Midwesterners just can’t compete for spit.

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